


Master of All

by MiHnn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Friendship, HP: EWE, Mild Language, Mystery, Natural Disasters, Post - Deathly Hallows, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Self-Destruction, Slef-Mutilation, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/pseuds/MiHnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione is asked to look into the recent disasters that have been plaguing the world, she's surprised to find that they somehow lead her to a certain Malfoy. With the help of Harry and Narcissa, Hermione tries to figure out one simple thing: what is Draco Malfoy's connection to the end of the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to wildelove, who was there in the beginning, Mi Hi Lover for looking over every chapter, and mccargi for making sure this is not a complete mess.

  
It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They were supposed to question him and his family; believe their story of seeking for repentance, give them praise for standing against the Dark Lord and aligning themselves with Potter's childish raid. The Ministry was supposed to be fair and understanding; the opposite of the power hungry menace that threatened the lives of wizards and witches for decades. For Merlin's sake, they were supposed to be grateful. Grateful for the help that his mother provided by declaring the Boy Who Lived as dead. Grateful for him not saying that he recognized the pesky Gryffindors who came into the Manor and challenged his loyalty. Yes! The Ministry should be grateful.

On some subconscious level, he might have expected praise. Failing which, a grudging respect or even the neutrality of a passing glare. But not this. Never this.

He never expected to be grabbed by several Aurors the moment the Dark Lord fell; falling to his knees as his hands were wrenched violently behind him, and his wand instantly confiscated by a sneering wizard. He never expected to be dragged mercilessly away from the ruins of his old school only to be forced into Side-Along-Apparition and then thrown into the holding cells within the Ministry. He never expected to be taken into custody along with his parents for the years serving the mad man who they saw fall to his death. He never expected to be denied of a fair trial and simply incarcerated amongst the other Death Eaters - the lower level scum - while they waited for the judgment of the Minister. The Minister, who was out congratulating the fallen troops, tending to the injured and recovering the bodies of the dead. This might have all happened to his surprise, but nothing surprised him more than the look he received from the all too perfect Potter.

He could have said something. Draco _expected_ him to say something. He was the Boy Who Lived; the boy who cheated death so many bloody times that his mortality should be questioned. Draco knew of what he and his mother had done that ultimately led to the Chosen One's precious victory. It was their contribution to the bloody battle, and he didn't even stop the Aurors from grabbing them. He had simply watched, his eyes guarded as he held his best friends, while the person who pretended not to know him when his own life was on the line, was dragged away. At that brief moment, their eyes had met and he told Potter in no uncertain terms through the sneer in his face and the utter disgust in his gaze _exactly_ what he thought of him.

They were kept in the holding cells for hours. He paced back and forth in agitation along the tiny cell while his father stayed silent, convinced of his own demise by the Dementor's Kiss. His mother sat primly while speaking soft words of encouragement and hope, almost as if her own voice might calm her nerves. When they were finally visited by a Ministry official, it was only to receive the news that judgment had been passed. His mother was to be released with her wand snapped and magic prohibited, while he and his father were to occupy Azkaban with all the other supporters who bore the Dark Mark. His imprisonment was to be five years long, while his father had been given a lifelong sentence with no Dementor's Kiss. His father had looked at him with hollow eyes then, and he knew that the man he always looked up to preferred death at the hands of the Dark Lord over this pathetic existence. His hope truly dwindled then.

It was the first time he was separated from his family since his father's escape from Azkaban. The irony of serving the next five years behind bars wasn't lost on him. He had gone from being a prisoner of Malfoy Manor, to a prisoner on a remote island; expected to spend his days with the other Death Eaters who ate meals with him and his family.

He was given filthy striped robes before he was shoved unceremoniously into the cell that was to be his home for half a decade. The initial smell of filth and decay did nothing to improve his mood. There was one small widow that let in light, but it was too high to offer any distraction. He could hear the waves as they crashed against the rocks, and smell the distinct scent of the salted ocean, but he would never be able to see it. He was to spend his days watching the dark walls that made up his eight by five foot cell. He briefly wondered if he would go mad within a few months. Maybe that would be better than sanely counting down the days until he was to be released.

The loud slam of the prison door shook him out of his reverie. This was it then. This was his home.


	2. Chapter 1

  
It always started the same way.

 _He was moving slowly, his steps deliberate and light, his movement slow. It felt as if he was walking in water, the invisible current resisting every twitch of his muscles as he moved forward. The darkness engulfed him, only the glow of speckled stars allowed him to see the barren land in front of him. Vaguely he thought they must be stars; even though they were unlike any stars he had ever seen before. He continued his slow journey, unaware of where he was going or why. All he knew was, he was where he was supposed to be and doing exactly what he should be. It took him a while before he realized that he was in the middle of a barren desert. The air was scorching hot and the ground had a number of cracks running through the hardened earth. But every time he took a step, the ground dipped beneath his feet like sand. He continued his journey curiously as the desert expanded before him with every step he took._

 _At first there was nothing but an expanding desert with darkness surrounding him. But then a strong gust of wind hit him suddenly, stopping him in his tracks and ruffling the expensive cloak his mother gave him for his sixteenth birthday. Looking down, he noticed that the robes were no longer black, but of a shade of grey. Pansy once mentioned that he should wear grey robes to bring out the colour of his eyes. He had never really taken her seriously, which made him wonder exactly why he had_ now _._

 _When he looked back up, he noticed that the landscape looked familiar. It was as if he had previously been there before; maybe when he was a child, maybe in a dream. A jagged rock stood before him that looked eerily like a preface of a rough mountain. It stood tall, magnificently large and more than six feet above him. But beyond the hardened sand there was nothing; only darkness. His eyes wandered over its smooth surface before they landed on the tip in fascination. Somehow, he knew what it was and what it was about to do. He found himself just waiting for it._

 _A glimmer of light broke him out of his reverie._

 _Looking down at the base of the mountain, he saw the tiniest movement beneath the sand. A grain fell forward, then another, and another, until a tiny silver snake slithered free. The reptile had steel scales that shone brightly under light that seemed to have no source. The snake grew bigger before his eyes, its’ scales overlapping with a metallic clink that sounded familiar. It was when the snake slithered towards him and raised its’ head in an unmistakable nod, did he recognize the silver cobra with the emerald eyes. He knew he wasn't in danger. He could trust this creature. The snake hissed, its silver tongue almost reaching him. It was telling him something; something he needed to know. But before it could come any closer, the ground started to rumble under his feet. The vibrations that started small grew and grew, until the very sand beneath his feet shook violently._

 _The sound of falling sand filled his ears before he felt the sensation of sinking. He immediately tried to fight the hold the sand had on him, but it was too difficult. It kept pulling him down. His feet were buried under the heavy grains, and his ankles felt like they were being pulled down by an invisible force. The snake slithered forward, as if to help in some way, but the closer it got to him, the more the mountain started trembling. A crack appeared at the top of the mountain before the tip cracked off from the force and fell forward, rolling down the preface of the jagged mountain. With every inch it fell, it got bigger, and bigger. He screamed in panic at the coming boulder but no sound was emitting from his throat. He sank deeper, his arms flailing uselessly beside him. He grabbed desperately for the grains of sand, as the one rock rolled down the mountain with excessive speed. It was coming towards him and he was trapped with no way of calling for help. The last thing he saw was the rock landing with a giant thud on the snake, killing it instantly and cracking the emerald eye, before his head was submerged by the sand._

Draco awoke with a jump, sweat on his brow and his heart beating blindly in panic. It took several forceful breaths for his quick, shallow breathing to slow down to some semblance of normalcy. His eyes scanned the darkened cell he inhabited almost suspiciously. It was as if he expected the very foundation he lied on to shake furiously and bury him alive, just like in his dream.

Unlike most of his family, he never believed in omens or superstitions. He spent his life trying to disprove every single Malfoy 'curse' that was out there. Breathing deeply, he ran a trembling hand through his blond hair, and rubbed the back of his neck in an effort to calm his still beating heart. He was no stranger to bad dreams or even nightmares, having lived under the same roof with the very man who threatened the lives of his family. But these dreams were different. One, he could have ignored. Two or three, he could have called it as a passing faze. But, five? And this had been the worst. He hardly woke up remembering the details of the dreams, just the inherent fear he felt while he was experiencing it. But recently, they had become more insistent. And as much as he hated to admit it, it worried him. Was he finally going mad? Did all the other prisoners who went mental while locked up in this place undergo the same dreadful nightmares he seemed to be experiencing?

Sighing, he laid back down on the uncomfortable mattress that stood a foot off the ground on an uncomfortable cot. At first, he had preferred the cool floor to this poor excuse for a bed. But now, his body had finally gotten used to the hard lumps that protruded harshly against his spine and he found himself able to sleep easily. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes wide open and trained his gaze onto that one lone window where a sliver of silver moonlight came through. He knew that whatever happens, he was not going to give in to sleep, give in to these disturbing dreams.

\---------------------------------------

Draco sat silently as he waited for his usual visitor. Just like every other second Friday of the month, he was shoved roughly into a small room that was big enough to hold a small wooden table with a wooden chair on either side. All three items spelled to the floor and as a result, immovable. He welcomed these visits. The light always seemed unusually bright compared to the dark cell he inhabited, the white walls hurt his eyes with its emptiness, and even the chairs seemed unfit for human use. But still, he preferred the one hour away from the darkened hell hole and looked forward to his only contact with another human being.

He stood up when the door opened and his visitor entered hurriedly, accompanied by an Auror as per regulation.

"Draco," his mother breathed out in relief before she rushed to his side and threw her arms around him in a familiar embrace. He fell into her, unable to raise his own arms to hug her due to the shackles that were around his wrists.

She immediately took a step back to inspect him, her hands travelling down his arms and chest before she grasped his face gently and scrutinized his features. "They didn't hurt you again, did they?"

He shook his head, amused, despite the topic of conversation. "No. Not since that one time.” He quickly glanced at the Auror who stood guarding this meeting. “There are new residents now, better…distractions.”

His mother smiled sadly, her eyes sparking with relief. "Good," she mumbled softly as she ran her hands lightly through his grimy hair. "Good."

Draco felt the urge to lean into her embrace as he always did when he was a child; instead he took a step back and faced the Auror who still stood intimidatingly before the only exit from the room.

Following his gaze, Narcissa folded her hands before her and faced the guard primly. "May I have a moment alone with my son, please?"

Besides raising a mocking eyebrow at her, the man did not move an inch.

"It's fine, Mother," Draco said soothingly before he took his usual seat. "I'm sure he's not paying any attention to us." He glared at the Auror, who didn't waste time glaring back.

Narcissa smiled lightly as she took the seat opposite him. "I see you are getting your sense of humour back."

"I don't think I ever had one," Draco mumbled dryly.

She smiled sadly at him before she looked at him in worry. "How are you? Are you eating?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Some things never change, no matter the circumstances. "As much as they give me," he mumbled vaguely. He decided long ago that it was better to pretend he got edible food than telling his mother the truth and watch her start a rampage against the Ministry. She had good intentions, but she lacked the prowess of receiving desired results.

"You look thin. I don't think you're eating enough. Maybe I could ask the guard if-"

"Mother!" Draco interrupted a tad bit harshly. "I assure you, I get fed very well." He couldn't resist throwing a passing glace onto their uninvited guest and noticed the tiny smirk the Auror made no effort to hide. The behaviour of these imbeciles boiled his blood, but he forced himself to stay calm and focus his attention on something more important: making sure his mother didn't see exactly what he was going through.

She smiled half-heartedly, and he felt the guilt at snapping at her rise within him. "I just worry sometimes. You and your father are here, and I am..." she trailed off, her eyes brimming with tears.

He had known her never to cry. Throughout the sixteen years he lived with his family, his mother had never shed a tear, at least never in front of him. He couldn't help but marvel at the change they have all undergone within the span of nearly three years. "How is Aunt Andromeda?" he asked quickly, hoping the question to be a sufficient distraction. After the great battle, his mother's estranged sister offered up a helping hand which his mother reluctantly accepted. Narcissa still didn't approve of her sister's choice of life and husband, and she still haven't agreed to stay in the same room with her nephew, but she did meet Andromeda on a regular basis and they were slowly but surely building their relationship from the rubble that it once was. After all, his mother had always told him that blood was the most important thing. It made sense that she would seek out the only family she had when her own was taken away from her.

"She asks about you and Lucius all the time," Narcissa said smiling genuinely. "She's just as worried. She's even..." His mother hesitated for a moment, her gaze meeting his cautiously.

"She's what?" he asked her curiously.

"She's even helping me get through this," Narcissa said quickly, almost as is if she was substituting her intended words. It didn't take the years of knowledge he had on her to know she was lying through that one sentence. "It hasn't been easy, Draco. Every time I step foot out of the Manor, I get looks. Glares. Most of our acquaintances that we used to be socially active with are now either abroad or in hiding. I truly have no one. Why, just last week I wanted to go have lunch just to cheer myself up and Pennington's refused to serve me. Can you imagine that? Your father and I used to go there every year for our anniversary. They have absolutely no loyalty."

"Mother," Draco interrupted carefully. "Not that I don't find the topic of restaurants fascinating, but what about the hearing?"

His mother stared at him in surprise. "What hearing?"

"The hearing you spoke about last month," Draco said slowly through gritted teeth. "And the month before that. And the month before that." He was truly losing his patience.

Narcissa continued to stare at him, almost unseeingly. It was then that he realized that she had avoided the topic of his one possible hope on purpose.

"What is it?" he asked gently. "Did you find out if it is possible to transfer me?"

His mother smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Draco."

His heart plummeted. This was his only hope; and now he didn't even have that. "What happened?"

Shaking her head, Narcissa rubbed at her eyes with delicate fingers, probably to stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks. "Do you remember I told you about your Father's cousin?" She waited for his nod of confirmation before she continued. "Cyrus was never one of your father's favourite people, but he could always be counted on to help family. He was working on transferring you to the French Ministry for Magic so that you could be under his charge. He was pushing to have a hearing to decide on your lineage. He thought he found a way to get you into French custody. That way, he could ensure your freedom. But..."

"But what?" he asked in confusion. His mother was obviously not telling him something that probably could or even already has changed his fate.

"Do you know what's been happening lately?"

Draco eyed her in confusion, surprised by the sudden change of topic. "What has been happening lately?"

"The hurricanes, floods, typhoons..." She looked at him expectantly.

Draco simply shook his head. "What hurricanes?"

His mother leaned forward earnestly. "Draco, has no one told you? There have been countless disasters all over the world."

"Alright, there are disasters," he shrugged. "What I don't get is what this has to do with the hearing."

Narcissa stayed silent for a moment as if trying to contemplate the best way to tell him bad news. "Last week, France experienced rain for six days and nights. There were floods Draco; horrible floods all over the north of France. Normandy, specifically. And your uncle Cyrus was unfortunately one of the casualties."

Draco stared at her disbelievingly for a moment before the gravity of what she had just told him hit. "You mean," he hissed slowly, "the only person who could have released me from this doomed death-hole is dead?"

His mother instantly reached for him with an intention of comforting him. "Draco."

But he jumped up from his seat and moved away from her. He barely noticed the Auror immediately take a step towards him in anticipation. "I'm stuck here?" he snapped in disbelief before he turned to face his mother in accusation. "You told me you had a plan. You told me, you would get me out."

"And I will," his mother said confidently even as she stood up to face him on even ground. "Just give me some time."

"Time?" he scoffed. "All I have ever given is time. All I have left is time."

"Draco," his mother said authoritatively, "I am doing what I can."

"You're doing nothing. I have waited for months. _Months_. Only to find out that the one hope I had is gone."

"Then you are better off than your father. He has no hope. I can't even get him a reduced sentence. But for you, I can."

"And do you have a plan, _Mother_?" he asked sarcastically.

Narcissa hesitated a moment before she nodded. "Andromeda does. She agreed to ask Potter to testify on your behalf."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I am not asking that bloody prick for anything."

His mother chose to ignore his use of language. "You need this."

"I bloody well don't," he snapped, more out of pride than anything else.

"You will accept his help," she said snapping at him loudly. Her eyes widened in surprise at her own outburst before she quickly glanced at the Auror to see his reaction. Draco curbed his tongue, knowing that if he said anything to his mother about her need to be so prim and proper, the real issue would never be addressed. And regardless of her high society antics, he rather fancied being free of this place.

"He could have said something before."

"Stop acting like a spoilt child, Draco," his mother reprimanded as she moved towards him. "Andromeda agreed to get Potter to help. Who could refuse the one person who defeated the Dark Lord? If he asks for your release, they'll grant it."

She had a point that he didn't want to admit. "We're not sure about that," he mumbled moodily.

"No. But we can hope." She stepped forward and grabbed his arm comfortingly. "I will speak to him if I have to. If anyone can get you out, it's him."

"Helped by Potter," Draco muttered, "he'll never let me live that down."

Narcissa smiled in amusement. "Sometimes, pride is not the most important thing. You should know that better than anyone." Taking a step forward, she grabbed his arm lightly. "Tell me, have the dreams stopped?"

His eyes quickly darted to the Auror who had gone back to standing stiffly as if he was ignoring their conversation. He intended no one to ever know. He knew that they would enjoy any given chance to send him on a one way trip to St. Mungos. Azkaban, he could get out of, but not a secluded ward where your own sanity is called into question.

His mother looked over her shoulder briefly before she turned back to him and took a step closer, dropping her voice to nearly a whisper. "You had another one?"

Draco nodded reluctantly, knowing what his mother would say next.

"What was it this time?" she asked carefully.

"I think..." he said carefully, "it was a rock. A rock killed a snake."

"A rock?" she asked, taken aback. "And what type of snake was this."

"I don't see why that matters."

Her eyes scrutinized him. "It obviously matters enough for you to not tell me."

With a tired sigh, Draco decided to give in to his mother's delusions. "It was a silver snake."

"A silver snake?" she muttered thoughtfully.

"With emerald eyes."

That immediately got her attention. "Just like your father's staff?"

He knew he shouldn't have said anything. "It was a dream. It makes sense that I dreamed of things that I have seen. Including Father's staff."

"No, Draco. This is important. Was there anything else that was different?"

He shook his head, keen on moving on from this topic of conversation. "No."

His mother looked at him thoughtfully, probably trying to decide if he was keeping something from her. "What about the-"

"It's time." The commanding voice of the Auror interrupted her.

Narcissa looked over at the guard with an exasperated sigh before she embraced him. "I will see you soon."

He couldn't help but scoff into her shoulder. 'Soon' was a dictated term. "Keep safe."

She released him before she affectionately ran her hands through his hair, her fingers moving the platinum blond strands away from his eyes. "You too." With a last sad smile, his mother held herself up elegantly, the way she always did just before she attended a grand ball, and headed towards the Auror. "I'm ready," she said curtly with an impatient nod. The Auror opened the door almost reluctantly and waited until she passed before following her. Draco couldn't help but smirk at his mother's antics. Even when they were the lepers of society, she somehow managed to ensure that she was perceived as a lady of high society.

The entrance of the two Aurors to accompany him back to his cell turned his smirk to a habitual sneer. He really hoped Potter was his salvation. At this point, he didn't care about the wanker. All he wanted was his freedom.


	3. Chapter 2

  
Hermione Granger was by no means late, but she rushed anyway. The moment her best friend had asked her to meet him, she had immediately felt dread. Dread for what he was about to tell her, dread that even though they knew the war had ended, it really hadn't. Honestly, she should be used to it by now. Being Harry Potter's best friend did come with its fair share of apprehension.

She entered the Ministry for Magic almost at a run, even though mentally she was reciting the mantra that she was panicking for no reason. Harry had seemed perfectly calm when she spoke to him earlier. There was no slight elevation in his voice to hint that he was lying, and he had even cracked a joke or two and smiled. Why on earth would he have been so at ease if he had dire news to tell her? The sensible thing was to take her time and head towards his office; instead, she moved as quickly as possible, nodding quick greetings with the co-workers she passed.

The moment she got into the elevator and pressed the button that would lead her to her office floor, she finally let out a low breath that she wasn't aware she had been holding. Maybe he was going to tell her something confident but not necessarily important, if that made any sense. Maybe it was something pertaining to the rogue Death Eaters they had been tracking the past month, those who had somehow managed to slip under the watch of the Ministry and were currently on the run. Maybe the information was so delicate that they had to move fast and he needed her to stop her well-deserved vacation to foresee the operation. But then, he didn't mention anything about her coming back to work. He did vaguely say something about having a job for her, though.

By the time the elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto the intended floor, Hermione's stomach was in knots. Her mind had travelled in warp speed thinking about every single possible scenario and she was just about to burst if her curiosity wasn't satisfied immediately.

She found Harry as she always did, with his form hunched over a desk piled high with documents. She didn't bother knocking and instead marched right in and took a seat right opposite him. "Hi, Harry."

Harry jumped slightly before his eyes landed on her. "Hi, Hermione."

Hermione smiled at her friend's startled jump; served him right for making her worry. "What was so important that you couldn't give me the details over a simple floo call?"

Harry squinted at her slightly before he grinned almost wickedly. "Did you rush here?"

"No," she scoffed. But his knowing smile caused her to narrow her eyes at him in mock anger. "You said it was an emergency."

"No," Harry said slowly. "I said it _could_ be an emergency."

Hermione glared at him. "Harry, I swear. If you laugh, I'm getting up and leaving here right this minute."

With great difficulty her best friend stopped mid-laughter. "Alright, since you're here." Lifting his wand, he called for a file from his filing cabinet that landed cleanly into the palm of his hand. "This is not about the other Death Eaters."

"Oh?" Hermione sat straight upright, suddenly curious since she hadn't thought of any other possible scenario.

"There might be a chance that the disasters are connected."

"All of them?"

Harry shrugged before he handed over the file. Hermione took it carefully, before leafing through the contents. "These are articles about them." She looked up at him in confusion.

Harry placed his forearms on the desk and leaned forward. "I need you to show them to someone, and see if they notice anything familiar or out of the ordinary."

"Who?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, before he spoke, wincing as he said the name. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked in confusion. " _Draco_ Malfoy?"

Harry simply grinned at her sheepishly

"Harry..." She shook her head, every single thought landing on the same conclusion. There was no way she was going to talk to him willingly. "What does Malfoy have to do with any of this?"

"Apparently, he has been having dreams that correspond with each and every disaster since they started happening."

"That's not unusual."

"Normally, no. But the dreams have been almost like a forecast. The things he dreamed came true."

"How do you even know this?"

"Andromeda told me."

It took Hermione a moment to make the connection. "She and Narcissa are back on talking terms then?"

"Barely." Harry shrugged. "But it doesn't hurt to check on this, right?"

"Fine. I admit that it does seem weird. Even in the Wizarding world to foresee a disaster unless you're a seer-"

"-especially every single disaster that has happened around the world," Harry piped in.

"But still, why can't you do it?"

"I would love to," he mumbled sarcastically. "But we need to get this done soon, and Kingsley needs me to check out East Asia. He still says that priority is for those who escaped the Ministry, not the disasters. And I'm leaving tonight."

"Then why are you looking into this?"

"Andromeda asked me to."

"Harry," she reprimanded.

"I know. But Hermione, all you have to do is go to Azkaban and interview Malfoy."

Hermione stared dumbly for a moment before she let out a nervous laugh. "You're joking, right? This is not as easy as you're trying to make it out to be."

Harry looked back at her sympathetically. "I wish I was joking."

"There's no wish," she said desperately. "You can just forget about this."

"I can't. Andromeda asked me. And I... sort of owe her."

"You're asking me to sit down with Malfoy. That sounds impossible to me."

"Not really." He shook his head. "You just have to take his statement."

"Harry," Hermione began in her best rational tone, "think about what you're asking me to do. You're asking me to give up my paid vacation so that I could go to a Death Eater infested prison and meet the one person who has hated me since the first time he found out I wasn't a pure-blood."

"I don't think he's going to be thinking about your blood status."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You want to bet?"

Harry let out a low sigh. "It's not like I can send Ron," he said meaningfully.

"I wasn't thinking about Ron," she said thoughtfully. "What about Seamus?"

"You know he's busy with the Egypt disaster."

"Dean's free."

"I just put him on the France job."

"Neville?"

"He's dropping the Auror programme to go into herbology, remember?" Harry smiled at her hopefully. "You're the best person for this job."

"How in Merlin's name did you come to that conclusion?"

"Simple," her best friend said with a shrug. "You're the only other person who can put him in his place." She opened her mouth to retort, but he beat her to it. "I can't say no to a Minister's request, and Ron will hex him before he even speaks his first sentence. Trust me, it has to be you."

"Is this because I punched him in third year?" she asked in mock insult.

Harry grinned at the memory. "It's your own fault, Hermione. If you weren't so insistent on doing things your own way and doing them well, I would have treated you like a Damsel in Distress from the get go."

A smile fought its way to the surface. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr Potter."

"I'm looking at facts more than flattery," Harry said seriously. "Besides," he said grinning, "I think it's working."

"Serves me right for trying to protect you from the big, bad, evil Dark Lord." Hermione sighed, knowing that she was agreeing to this disastrous assignment despite her misgivings. "This doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy it."

"Definitely not," Harry said dryly. "The one thing I don't expect is Malfoy to have changed."

\---------------------------------------

Hermione did everything that she could think of to prolong meeting her childhood irritator. But no matter what she did, she ended up right where she was supposed to be when the time came. Needless to say, the expression on Malfoy's face the moment she entered the meeting room was almost worth having this assignment. _Almost_.

"Malfoy," she began curtly before she took a seat opposite him.

The moments he spent staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and disgust gave Hermione the perfect opening to study him with her own cold exterior. He didn't look good. Azkaban had not been good to him, anyone could see that. Usually a tall, lanky individual, Malfoy now sat almost a skeleton in front of her. His eyes had sunken in, allowing the dark circles above his cheeks to show contrastingly against his pale skin. When in school, she had always thought that he couldn't get paler if he tried. Apparently, she was wrong. Keeping him away from the sun almost had the added effect of making him look sickly pale, even though his eyes still had that fire in them. And in some unusual way, she was glad to see it.

"Granger," he said with a sneer.

Hermione smiled then, glad to see that he had some bite left in him, which only caused Malfoy's gaze to narrow suspiciously at her. As much as she was for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban, having known Malfoy for most of her life made her thankful that Azkaban hadn't broken him, at least, not yet.

"For what do I owe this displeasure?"

Hermione bit her tongue to stop an automatic insult from leaving her lips. She knew this wasn't going to be easy. She had to be the bigger person. "Harry sent me."

His demeanour instantly changed. "Potter?" he spat. "And why is it that the Boy-Who-Lived chose to send his bushy-haired accomplice instead of showing his scar-head face here?" He leaned forward with a sneer. "Is he scared?"

Hermione fought the urge to touch her curls self-consciously. "Harry has to deal with an issue in Hong Kong. He asked me to speak to you."

"Well, isn't he the avid globe trotter."

"Yes, well." She cleared her throat before she rummaged through the bag she brought with her. Malfoy stared almost curiously as she took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"What do you want first, the order for my lunch or dinner?"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Actually, I want a statement."

"Brilliant. Planning on publishing my life story, are you?"

"Despite what you think, your life story is not that interesting, Malfoy."

"I don't know about that," he said with a light shrug. "Living with the Dark Lord gave us a few insights. Do you want to know the bathroom schedule?"

Hermione sighed, already tired after meeting with him only for five minutes. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?" She took his silent glare as an affirmative. "Alright, then." She cleared her throat and took the quill in her hand. "Let’s begin with the first dream." She looked at him expectantly.

Malfoy stared at her. "First what?"

"Dream," Hermione said automatically. "I heard that the first dream happened..." she pulled out a notebook and glanced at a few pages before her eyes landed on the information she was seeking, "...nine weeks ago." When she looked up again, Malfoy had a murderous glare trained towards her.

"Why are you here?" His voice was slow and controlled, but she could sense an underlying tone of foreboding.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "To take your statement on your recurring dreams."

Immediately she realized, she might have said the wrong thing. Before, while he had been only slightly hostile and insulting, now she realized that he was simply angry. She could practically see his rage in the way his eyes narrowed at her, and he glared almost unforgivably. "You're not here to free me," he said slowly, his tone slow and deliberate.

Part of her was hesitant to tell him the truth. "What made you think I was?"

"My mother," he sneered. "She told me that she was going to get Potter to help me. And I was told that he agreed."

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "How is Harry supposed to help you?"

"Do I look like I bloody know?" Hermione winced. She had never been a fan of swearing, especially when it was accompanied by a tone with that level of anger. "Potter is supposed to be the do-gooder he always has been and speak to the Ministry about my conduct. He is supposed to get me a hearing."

"Malfoy," Hermione said soothingly. "Harry has already spoken to the Ministry. Everyone who has the Dark Mark was given a minimum ten years of mandatory incarceration in Azkaban, you got five years. Didn't you ever wonder why that was? Harry spoke to the Aurors, to the Minister himself and told him about what happened at the Manor. And what happened with Dumbledore," she finished softly. For the first time since she entered the room, the fire in Malfoy's eyes dulled slightly.

"Then why am I still here?" he asked softly, almost as if he was dreading the answer.

"The Ministry believed that your actions during sixth year - fixing the vanishing cabinet, letting Death Eaters penetrate the wards of Hogwarts and killing innocent people - deserved some time behind bars." Malfoy looked away, and part of her understood that he had spent his time in Azkaban trying to forget that night. "And the fact that Voldemort stayed at the Manor while he was still wanted by the Ministry didn't help matters either," she continued softly, ignoring his automatic wince at hearing the forbidden name.

"I'm not stupid, Granger. I know I deserve this," he muttered softly. "But I think I've paid my dues. I might have fixed the vanishing cabinet, but I never killed anyone. And the Dark Lord wasn't exactly an invited guest." Malfoy drifted off thoughtfully.

Hermione stayed silent, unwilling to break this almost calm that had settled between them. She had a job to do, and she had a limited amount of time to do it. "I need to know about your dreams, Malfoy."

He looked at her then, and for some reason, she could see defeat in his eyes. "How do you know about them?"

"Andromeda told Harry. I'm assuming that it was-"

"My mother."

She smiled slightly in encouragement. "Yes."

"My mother is a superstitious fool, Granger. She makes things bigger than what they are. You're wasting your time."

Hermione really wanted to take his words at face value and leave. But she had made a promise to her best friend, and her own curiosity won over her need to avoid this conversation. "I just need to know the details. That is all."

"I can barely remember them," he scoffed.

"Andromeda said you did," she said in retaliation.

Malfoy squinted at her, his gaze suspicious. "And what is so great about my dreams? Potter trying to thicken up his dream book?"

"For reasons unknown, you seem to be exhibiting the signs of a seer."

He scoffed then. "Okay, Granger. If you say so."

"If you tell me your dreams, I promise to leave you alone for the rest of your life."

Malfoy barely hesitated before a wide grin split his face. "Let’s get started then."

Hermione sighed before she picked up her quill. This was going to be a long day.


	4. Chapter 3

Hermione straightened her back in an attempt to unhinge the knotted muscles that ached from being in a seated position for too many hours. She couldn't help but send a glare towards the man who sat opposite her. How in Merlin's name did he have that straight backed posture after staying in such a dreary place for so long? Usually, prisoners were hunched from the lack of movement and a good chair to sit on as well as a good bed to sleep on. But not a Malfoy, apparently. His posture was something she would never admit that she envied, simply because it was the result of a high class society that practiced racial profiling. She also couldn't help but notice that during the three hours they sat talking to each other, the bane of her existence hadn't shifted once. All movement was confined to his mouth, which sneered occasionally, and his eyebrows, which gave her the impression that he was silently mocking her. On the other hand, she had shifted in her seat restlessly throughout the whole interview. The wooden chairs were highly uncomfortable and not made for human habitation. She was convinced that in some ancient society it was probably used as a torture device for children who hadn't completed their homework.

"Alright," Hermione mumbled tiredly, "I think that is everything I need." She flipped through the countless pages until she reached the first set of questions. "I just need to go through it one more time."

Any other person would have groaned out loud. But Malfoy simply raised a thin blond eyebrow in question while giving her a blank stare. If he was intending to make her uncomfortable, he was succeeding.

Hermione shifted in her seat again as she kept her eyes on her notes and away from his steely gaze. "On the fourteenth of the previous month - a month after your incarceration - you experienced your first dream, correct?"

"Yes," he muttered in a bored tone.

"And the content of the dream was?"

"Have you actually been taking notes all this time, Granger? Last time I checked, I gave you the information and it is your job to remember. I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

"I guessed you wouldn't be," Hermione said primly as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I'm supposed to get an accurate account of your dreams and that is exactly what I'm going to do." She grinned mockingly at him. "I'm not leaving without it."

"You'll have a long wait then," he sneered.

"Fine," she shrugged, adamant on calling his bluff. "I'll wait."

They sat staring at each other in silence, Hermione's features showing her utter displeasure while Malfoy simply smirked at her in good humour. Part of her wondered if he was usually this moody before he was shoved into a five year prison sentence in Azkaban.

"Tell me, Granger," he began conversationally, and for the first time he actually leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, "you and Weaslebee finally hitched?"

If there was any question she was not prepared for, it was that one. "I don't see why that is any of your business, Malfoy," she sniffed hautily.

He narrowed his eyes at her almost in a calculating manner. "You and Potter then?"

For this question, she couldn't help but scoff her reply, still determined to not give him any leeway. Throughout the interview he had given her short, clipped answers. If she wanted details, she had to ask the right questions and hope he would give her the right answers. It took a while, but she finally understood that he took her questions literally - most probably just to annoy her - so she rephrased her questions to ensure that he had no choice but to answer her with the information she needed. Things had moved much quicker that way. And for making her job difficult, she was determined to make sure that she dished out as much as she had taken.

"I always knew it would be one or the other," Malfoy continued snidely. "You never did have enough ambition to see beyond that little circle of yours."

She decided to ignore that little quip of his. "Tell me, Malfoy," she started mockingly, repeating the sentiment he had told her earlier, "Would you like to go back to your old cell?" His cocky expression immediately faltered before his eyes narrowed at her with a look so pure of loathing, she was almost taken aback. But she pressed on, determined to have the last say. "Harry told me that Andromeda begged him to get you transferred. Which is why you are no longer guarded my Dementors, but by ordinary Aurors, who _don't_ feed on your despair so strongly that you wish for death."

"What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice slow and measured.

Hermione let out an innocent smile, knowing full well that she had finally gotten his attention. "How long were you there for? A few days?"

His lips pursed shut, almost as if the very memory was something that clawed deeply within him. "A week," he muttered under his breath, his back slouching for the first time in hours. He raised his gaze slowly to meet hers, his eyes as hard as granite. "Planning to send me back, Granger?"

The raw tone in his voice made her pause. She had planned to use the empty threat to illicit proper answers from him. But she found herself reluctant to do so. She could never be so heartless; especially to someone who wore a strong facade but was surely suffering inside. "No," she said softly as she shook her head. "But you have to understand that you are in a better position than most." She looked at him seriously, trying to convey in not many words exactly how lucky he was. "Most Death Eaters were given the Kiss, others...” She stopped.

Malfoy looked away, his demeanour changing once more to mild curiosity. "How's my father?"

She stared at him in surprise, immediately regretting bringing up the topic of other Death Eaters. The fact that he couldn't look her in the eyes was the perfect tell that he cared about the answer, even if he didn't look like he did.

Hermione decided to be cautious in her wording, unsure of what he already knew. "Doesn't your mother tell you anything about him?"

Malfoy looked at her scathingly, his tone bitter. "Granger, my mother doesn't even know that he's alive."

Taken aback, she stopped herself from fiddling with her notes as she always did when she was nervous or about to lie. "I'm sure he's fine."

Cool grey eyes studied her carefully. "Fine," he repeated. "He's _fine_."

She winced, knowing full well that this was the reason she decided not to be an Auror. She was too bad a liar.

Malfoy leaned forward slowly, a sneer across his face. "I was in that block for nearly seven days, and _I_ was _not fine_. I can't imagine that my father, having been there before, is better off."

"Your father is a convicted criminal."

"So am I."

Hermione shook her head. "The charges against you were minimalized thanks to Harry." She ignored the snort of disbelief that Malfoy let out in a not so dignified manner. "You have to be thankful to him, Malfoy."

"Of course I have to be," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Saint Potter doing what's best for everyone all the time. What a martyr! "

Hermione's lips pursed in a barely hidden effort not to jump to the defence of her best friend. It was obvious that Malfoy was trying to distract her from her line of questioning. And honestly, she was getting tired of it. "I don't see why you choose to focus on Harry when you can simply answer my questions and finish up our meeting as soon as possible."

The lecherous smirk that split his lips was most unbecoming. "And why would I want to finish our meeting as soon as possible?"

The question threw her. Was he not looking forward to some time _away_ from her?

At her incredulous expression, Malfoy's smirk widened. "The moment you leave, they will cart me right back to my cell. And as much as I'm a lover of cold, black stone and barely enough room to move, I find those cells particularly dry this time of year." He leaned towards her again, his demeanour self-imposing. "Honestly, Granger, for the smartest witch, you're unusually daft. I don't want to go back to my cell, even at the expense of suffering your company for a few hours longer."

"A few hours?" Hermione sputtered, outraged. "First you couldn't wait to get rid of me, and now you're actually infringing on my investigation just to make sure that you stay here _longer_?"

His only response was to raise a perfectly mocking eyebrow, which only succeeded to enrage her further.

Glaring venomously at him, she stood up quickly, practically knocking the ink bottle that teetered dangerously near her copious notes. "I don't have time for this," she snapped as she collected her parchment and put them in the satchel she had brought full of stationary items. "If you want to play these games to amuse yourself while you're in here, be my guest. But I won't allow you to waste my time on these idiotic activities of yours." In a right huff, Hermione grabbed her satchel, threw it over her shoulder roughly and turned around ready to leave. She had just taken a few steps, when he spoke.

"I lied."

Two words; and yet they held all the dread within them. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at him suspiciously. "What?" Her tone was sharp, short, and made it apparent that she wasn't in the mood for any nonsense.

It figures that Malfoy wouldn't care two hoots. "I lied," he repeated, more confidently the second time.

At that moment, Hermione felt the urge to reach for her wand and hex him to oblivion. It was a pity that they took it for safe keeping before she entered the Meeting Room. Finally she understood the reason for them to ask her to part from her wand. It wasn't so they could ensure that Malfoy wouldn't get hold of a weapon, it was so that she wouldn't follow her basic instinct and _Crucio_ him.

"And what," she said slowly through gritted teeth, "did you lie about?"

He looked at her with a blank expression, almost as if he didn't understand her question before he said calmly, "Everything."

Later, she would surmise that the only reason she didn't lunge across the table and throttle that pale neck of his was because an Auror stood guard. She knew the talk around in the wizarding world. Women were meant to marry, not take up political or Auror posts. Women were too emotional. They were unreliable at times of trial. They were not cool-headed and logical like men. But she was not like all the other pure-blooded women who held their place. And she wasn't going to let a childish prat get her thrown out for attempting to murder an inmate; and murder was the primary action she had in mind.

"You...” she stopped, her fingers flexing in muscle memory of the recent vine wood she had managed to get. “Mal.." She couldn't even say it. She couldn't even say his name. She was so enraged, every muscled coiled tightly in anger, that she couldn't even fathom what it all meant.

"Give my mother visitation rights to see my father," Malfoy stated coldly, his tone dictating. "And give her the clearance to visit me whenever she wants. Then, and only then, will I tell you everything."

She stared at him incredulously. "You're _blackmailing_ me?"

"I don't know if your little brain noticed under that insanely bushy hair of yours, but during our first year _I_ was sorted into Slytherin." His lips widened with a confident sneer. "That was no mistake."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, feeling her anger dissipate with every new logical thought that swirled in her mind. "You're forgetting that with one word I can have you back in with the Dementors," she threatened coldly.

But her statement did not have the desired effect. Instead of the younger Malfoy cowering in fear and stating his willingness to do as asked; he simply looked at her, calling her on her bluff. "But you won't, will you?"

"And what makes you think I won't?" she questioned immediately, part of hoping that she will follow the threat she was giving.

"Granger," Malfoy began in an annoyingly calm lecturing tone, "are you really willing to place someone in with the Dementors? Especially someone who - according to the very government you work for, has stated in their previous rulings that only a murderer or someone proved of high treason should endure? Besides, are you willing to risk what the Dementors would do to my mind over a little tiff?"

"This is far from a little tiff, Malfoy."

"Maybe. But it is also the truth. You need my mind as it is. Dementors would only make it harder for you to get what you want."

She scrutinized him carefully, wondering if anything would ever make him less devious than what he already was. "You're playing with people's lives, Malfoy. I'm not here to have a little chat. I'm here because for some unknown reason, you could have an answer to save lives. You're being selfish with what you know."

"You see it as selfishness, while I see it as self-preservation." His eyes narrowed carefully at her. "My demands are reasonable. Let my mother see my father one last time, and give her free visitation rights to see me. Honestly Granger, if anyone could hear you right now, they would accuse you of not having a heart."

Somehow, that last bit was what got to her. She was known for her compassion. And even though, deep down, she knew that he had no basis for such an observation, she couldn't help but think that he knew exactly what to say and what to promise to get her to agree with him. That very thought vexed her further. The thought of Malfoy being able to control her like a puppeteer was both laughable and terrifying. Laughable because she was a grown woman in charge of her own actions, and terrifying because it somehow transported her to her twelve year old self in Hogwarts when all she wanted to do was prove herself.

"I don't care if others think I have no heart," she said coolly, enjoying the fact that her statement had the desired effect of lessening his smirk, even for a bit. "If you're not going to give me your memories willingly, then I will have no choice but to take them by force."

When Malfoy spoke again, his voice was unusually soft, and slightly shaky. "Veriterserum."

Hermione nodded curtly, before she turned on her heel and prepared to walk towards the exit one more time. "You made your choice, Malfoy."

The guard was just opening the door and stepping aside to let her through, when he called for her. "Granger."

Against her better judgement, she turned to face him. He looked at her with an expression of slight panic and sadness. It was the most honest she had seen his features. “My mother just needs to see him."

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, fighting the impulse to promise him something she knew she shouldn't simply because her very nature wanted her to. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly. "But it's kinder if she doesn't." Without waiting for a response, she nodded to the guard in a silent 'thank you' and exited the Meeting Room.

As she stepped out of the room, her eyes met his. And for a brief moment she could read his thoughts; she could see right through those cool grey eyes just before the guard stepped forward and shut the door behind him. He knew! He knew what state his father was in. And Hermione was sure that he was probably haunted by that very thought.


End file.
